


a little victimless crime

by technorat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Millicent the cat - Freeform, Minor Injuries, Past Relationship(s), Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: After the evacuation of the Supremacy, Hux goes to his quarters to rest and recuperate.The Supreme Leader has other plans.





	a little victimless crime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [friday28th](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday28th/gifts).



> I tried my hand at classic kylux, though I am afraid it may be more cannoli in places.
> 
> no particular warnings apply, though Hux's injuries from the last Jedi are brought up.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy!  
> It was a pleasure participating in this year's secret Santa event!

He can feel the blood dry between his teeth. His hands shake and his bruising calls attention to itself, begging for him to drag himself to medbay.

But officers loyal to the First Order perform their duty first and Hux prides himself on that.

Hux is the last to evacuate the wreck of the Supremacy, climbing aboard the final Troop Transport. Many had perished. It weighs heavily on him. Many of the diseased had survived the initial impact and died sometime during the whole Crait debacle. 

If they had spared some resources to the recovery of personnel, their loses would not be as great as they are. Alas. He is not the Supreme Leader.

Hux takes a seat within the craft, leaning against the wall. The cold seeps in, even through his many layers, and soothes his overheated flesh. 

“Sir,” a Stormtrooper says. “ETA is fifteen minutes.”

“Very well,” Hux says, voice barely above a rasp.

He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling. Grey, standard grey. Clean. Functional. His eyes trace the contours and he finds time to simply breathe and try to ignore his world going to hell.

Hux doesn’t notice when his eyes slide shut and, if any of the shaken Stormtroopers and officers notice, they kindly ignore his momentary display of weakness.

*

He wakes with a jolt as the Troop Transport settles within the Finalizer. Hux rubs his eyes with a bare hand before sweeping his hair back; he’d lost his gloves sometime within the shift. He collects himself and rises, brushing invisible wrinkles from his clothes.

Twenty passengers. Nineteen, if Hux did not count himself. Sixteen if Hux did not count the crew he had brought with him on the last of his salvage trips.

Sixteen exhausted survivors, sporting injuries. Mentally, the costs of this cycle go up and up. He will have to schedule an emergency meeting with the financial departments to try and redistribute budgeting.

Budgeting.

Hux’s nails cut into the palms of his hands, covered in ash and dust that once was part of the roaming capital of their Order, that once was part of living beings of their Order.

With Snoke dead, even the financial situation is thrown into chaos.

Hux forces himself to stop. To relax his grip. His palm sting, blood beading at the eight crescent cuts. 

He sees that the survivors are taken to the medbay and dismisses the Stormtroopers he’d requisitioned for this mission.

Hux marches himself to his rooms, back kept straight despite his mounting exhaustion. There are fewer Stormtroopers patrolling the halls than he would like, but with their many losses…

Phasma.

She had not been amongst the recovered. Hux had come across chromium shards, ones that could only have come from one place, and he forbids himself from grieving. Phasma was temporary, just like everyone else. Sooner or later, she would have backstabbed him and been on her merry way.

Onwards to greater things.

Hux enters his quarters and takes a short, quick breath. Recycled air cools his overheated cheeks.

“This calls for a toast,” Hux murmurs to himself. He doesn’t pour himself a cup, but instead drinks straight from the bottle. “To you, Phasma. Though I wish I were toasting someone else right about now…”

He takes another sip and relishes how the whiskey burns its way down his throat.

 _“Mrow_.” Millicent twines her way around his boots, tail curled in greeting.

The needy little creature looks up at him, green eyes sparkling as she lets out another trill. She walks over to her food bowl and meows again, this time piteously.

As usual, the food bowl is still full, with just the center bits eaten. Hux abandons the whiskey and bends, picking up her orange food bowl and shaking it so that food pellets gather at its center.

Only then does Millicent deem it full enough to eat from. She graciously allows him to pet between her ears as she scarfs down her food, letting out little mews in-between, as if she is a kitten once again.

He stands, wiping the smile from his face, and marches to his boot jack, kept safely beneath his bed. He removes both shoes and lines them neatly by the wall.

His back aches faintly, but it would be rather pointless to lie down just yet.

The day Armitage Hux goes to sleep in a bed before taking a sonic is a day he does not wish to see. Not yet. He could almost imagine his father’s sneer at even the suggestion of it.

No.

He stands, his side screaming with the pain of movement, even as he forces himself to the bathroom unit. He pauses, standing before the sonic, and changes the settings for water.

He deserves it, he tells himself. After such a day.

*

Hux wraps a towel around his waist and rummages through his cabinets. He swallows a pain killer dry, scowling at his dwindling supply of bacta. He opens it and smears it across the worst of his bruises.

Millicent hisses loudly.

He opens the door, padding out in little more than a towel. “What is it?” he asks the cat. The words fall flat when they leave his mouth.

Kylo Ren is in his chambers, standing before Hux’s cat.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux rasps, sneering. “What brings you here?” He pulls his robe on, tying it hastily over his waist. It clings uncomfortably to his body, but he’d take that indignity over standing in the nude. 

“You didn’t answer my coms,” Ren says, his eyes lingering on the exposed flesh of Hux’s form.

“Yes, well,” Hux says, putting away his small medkit, shutting his cabinets with a little more force than necessary. “As you can see, I was otherwise occupied.”

Ren bristled, barring his teeth like a wild animal. “You don’t talk to me like that,” he sputters out.

“Apologies, Supreme Leader,” Hux says cooly. He’s used to men who think themselves better than him and their scathing anger.

But they all died, one by one, while Hux still lived.

Ren would join them, sooner or later.

The Supreme Leader pauses, truly staring at Hux. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease. Ren steps forwards, into his space, and pulls open the top of Hux’s robe.

Ren can’t seem to look away from Hux’s throat, bruised to several spectacular shades of purple and blue.

“Admiring your handiwork?” Hux says drily, sure to add a “Supreme Leader,” after.

Ren scowls and drops his hand. He doesn’t apologize but he also does not throw Hux against a wall again. He’ll consider it a victory, for now.

“ _Mrow_?” Millicent makes her presence known, trotting to their guest, her tail held high in greeting.

“Millicent,” Hux says, with disapproval.

But it’s too late. His darling cat is already staring at Ren as if he’s a shiny new playtoy. She winds herself between her legs, meowing all the while, likely demanding to know why she is not being pet at that very moment.

“You have a cat,” Ren says dumbly.

“Her name is Millicent.” Hux feels a headache coming on.

“Cats aren’t within ship regulation.” Ren kneels and stares at Millicent, never looking away from her sharp green eyes. “How… unusual of you, General.”

Millicent crouches down, wriggling her shoulders just like she does before pouncing on her favorite toys—

As soon as Hux thinks it, Millicent springs forwards, swatting his face with a paw.

He quite nearly flings himself forwards, scooping up Millicent and holding her close to his chest. Hux doesn’t know whether he wants to praise or scold the precious creature. He settles for scowling up at Ren.

“Your cat,” Ren spits out, swallow claw marks visible against his cheek, “scratched me.”

Hux sniffs and pulls innocent Millicent away. Of all the times to be caught _without_ his monomolecular knife…

“She’s a cat,” he says blandly, voice breaking. “You’ll find that that’s a common thing for cats to do.”

Millicent chooses then to wriggle furiously in his arms until he has no choice but to let her go. She runs for safety underneath the couch, meowing insistently the whole time. She’s decided that she is not truly a fan of Ren in their shared quarters—and Hux understands her completely.

Ren waits, an awkward beat of silence welling up between them. He instead, returns his focus on Hux’s throat.

“What happened to you?” Ren asks, as if he does not know. As if he had not been _there_.

As if he had not been the cause for it all.

Hux tilts his head up, staring down disdainfully at the other man. First his father, then Snoke, and now Ren but at least the first two had the decency to at least remember the wounds that they inflicted.

Realization flickers in Ren’s eyes before going cold. 

He steps forwards, wrapping his hands around Hux’s throat. Unwillingly, Hux’s heartbeat quickens, like the rabbit in the jaw of a fox.

Ren leans closer, impossibly closer, the smell of ash and of musk. He reeks of older days, of memories best left in the past. Of hours stolen away, spent well on seemingly every surface. Of those cycles after, where it would burn to walk and where bruises would linger beneath uniforms and cloaks. 

They’d changed since then. Ren had abandoned his old cloaks, had abandoned his old costume but for the belt.

Hux had changed too.

Ren sniffs, mouth against Hux’s ear. “I always wondered why you wouldn’t let me into your quarters. Was it the cat?” His breath tickles, so very hot. Ren’s gloved fingers creep across his shoulders, diminutive now without his many uniform layers. “Was it because you didn’t want me to see you?”

“You’ve seen me,” Hux says scathingly.

Ren hums. “In the dark. With your clothes still mostly on.”

Hux steps away. He pulls the robe shut, tying it neatly at his waist. “I think that’s enough, Supreme Leader.” 

Ren tilts his head, like a dog kept away from his treat. He doesn’t understand. Everything is so obvious now that he’s lost his helmet.

Perhaps there was some virtue to wearing the blasted thing.

“What’s changed?” Ren asks, voice hoarse. Hurt seeps from him. It isn’t the first rejection he’s received that day, but Hux will be damned if he’d willingly be anyone’s second choice.

“Perhaps it was the choking?” Hux offers, scathingly, words scarcely above a whisper. “Or perhaps it was throwing me into a wall in front of my men.”

“ _My_ men,” Ren corrects. He circles Hux, like a predator, like a wolf.

Again, he wishes for the monomolecular blade. How nicely it would fit into Hux’s hand. How nicely it would cut through Ren.

“ _Your_ men,” Hux says, repeating it back robotically. “Apologies, Supreme Leader.” But he’s not deaf as to how hollow his words sound.

Ren accepts it, for now. He finds himself on Hux’s couch, the poor ice blue thing groaning against Ren’s weight. He spreads his legs like he belongs there. “You say this as if you didn’t try to kill me,” Ren says, amusement lingering.

Hux blinks incredulously, taking a step back.

“Don’t bother with the theatrics.” Ren waves him off. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Hux.”

Hux scoffs because scoffing is always better than flinching.

“Sit,” Ren says, patting the space beside him.

Hux sits, gingerly, avoiding touching Ren in any way. A invisible pressure, however, seems to have another thought. It moves him, until he’s pressed against Ren’s side. The other man is so warm, he’s _scalding_.

“We need to work together,” Ren rumbles.

“That is the point of any organization, you’ll find,” Hux says, looking straight ahead at a bland wall. His gaze doesn’t flicker. “If none of us worked for a common goal, why would we all be here?”

“ _We_ need each other,” Ren stresses, practically whispering into Hux’s ear. “The remnants of the Empire don’t respect you, for your youth. The younger officers adore you, put you on a pedestal that you cannot afford to fall from. That’s why you need me, General…”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Oh, and you suddenly remember that you need me, Supreme Leader? I would’ve liked for you to remember that earlier.”

Ren leans his head onto Hux’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of Hux’s neck. Ren nips him, like a wild dog.

Hux yelps, drawing away. “That is not generally how one seals an agreement, _Supreme Leader_.”

Ren looks at him from behind the curtain of his dark hair. His eyes are wide, pupils mere pinpricks. “Oh? And how does one generally seal a deal?”

Hux raises a hand, offering it for a shake, not bothering to hide the scorn from his face. Ren takes the offered limb, his hand engulfing Hux’s. When he shakes his hand, Ren is sure to squeeze, thumb pressing down between several small bones.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hux says, extracting his hand from the firm hold. He doesn’t need to add more bruises to his already purple-splotched frame. 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Ren says, a smirk coming easily to him, only slightly marred by the deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to mark the agreement another way?”

Ren’s breath is hot against Hux’s cheek.

In all of their trysts, Kylo Ren had never once kissed Hux. Never initiated nor received, though Hux had once, drunkenly, tried. 

Hux scoffs again, pushing away. “If you’re trying to get into my good graces, _Supreme Leader,_ you’d better do more than that,” he says. 

“Hmm? What more should I do, _Grand Marshall_?” Ren smiles, lips stretched over teeth, bright red.

Hux pauses. There is no easy response to that.

Millicent rears her head from underneath the couch, biting at Ren’s ankles. Unfortunately, the Supreme Leader is still wearing his boots and Millicent’s teeth pose little trouble for him.

“Millicent,” Hux says, with a sigh.

The cat perks up, looking so pleased that he just knows how improper she’s being. Smoothly, Millicent wriggles before jumping into Hux’s lap, curling up and settling her head against his stomach. Hux pets her, giving her just what she wants.

He made up his mind, a long time ago, but now it only seems like the distant dream of a child.

He wanted to be emperor. He’d dreamed of taking a throne amongst the stars, putting order to a disordered galaxy. 

But Hux is not willing to take the reins now, not after so many disasters so close together. 

He wants _power_ , not to just be some figure head, to be used and tossed aside when there is no longer a purpose left for him. He will never be called _useless_ again, never be tossed aside, never be forgotten.

When Hux looks up, Ren is watching him, amber eyes dark and deep and dangerous.

“What I want,” Hux rasps out slowly, savoring each and every word.

Ren smiles slowly, tilting his head.

He thinks he’s decided.


End file.
